Prodigal Son (Lean Dogs Legacy Book 3)

by Lauren Gilley

  She picked up the rest of her sandwich and slid off the stool. “Why the hell not?”

  ~*~

  Twenty minutes, a wardrobe change, and a stern lecture from Phillip Calloway later, Axelle was riding shotgun in Raven’s Land Rover, and trying to make sense of things.

  “Okay, I don’t get it.”

  “Hmm?” Raven changed lanes and whipped around a Mercedes. She wasn’t Axelle’s kind of driver, but she wasn’t bad.

  Axelle tried to be tactful. “Well. We’re in your Rover. And you’re dressed like that. And your brothers…”

  Raven laughed. “Ah, yes, I see where you’re going with this. How am I such a success while they’re absolute catastrophes?”

  “More or less.”

  She chuckled. “I like to tell them it’s because they’re all idiots. But.” Her tone shifted. “We’re half-siblings, you see. Dad stuck it to literally everyone, but he never stuck around. We were all brought up by our mothers. Our very different mothers.” She slanted a look over to see if Axelle understood.

  She did.

  “My mum was a model,” Raven explained in a gentler tone. “Who became a designer. She has her own agency. I slid right into the business, seamlessly. Not exactly a sob story.” She made a self-deprecating noise. “Some of the others didn’t have it so easy. Charlie, Albie, Tommy. King did alright – eventually. His mum was loving, had good grandparents. He’s in the States now. Lives on a horse farm, which his tiny jockey heart just loves. Cassandra is, well.” She sighed. “I’m helping with her, as much as I can. Phillip’s been as much of a father to us all as he could, bless the old asshole.”

  “All your brothers are Lean Dogs?” Axelle asked.

  “Yeah. They didn’t have much of a choice, did they? Phillip was the first, and he was the oldest. He thought it was the best way to take care of the others, bringing them into the club.”

  She knew that she shouldn’t press – shouldn’t admit any sort of ill will toward the club when it was quite possibly the only safe haven for the moment – but she couldn’t help herself. It was her daddy’s disease: the impulsiveness. The urge to press the pedal harder, punch the clutch faster. In Daddy, it had been the urge to snort another line. She wasn’t like him.

  She wasn’t.

  (Most days, she worried she was exactly like him.)

  The point was, she never knew when to lay off, so she said, “How in the world could involving all your little brothers in some big crime syndicate ever be a good way to take care of them?”

  She thought Raven might bow up her back. Instead, she slid a slow smirk across the console at her. “How old are you?”

  “What does that matter?”

  “I’m just curious.”

  “Thirty,” she admitted, reluctantly.

  Raven nodded. “Old enough to know the wisdom of this, then. Look, in a perfect world, everything would be above board, and everyone would be genuine, and honest men could earn honest livings and go home to their wives and babies behind their American white picket fences.

  “But this is the real world, darling. It’s neither pretty nor clean.” They’d come to a red light and she turned to give Axelle a straight look. “This club is full of broken boys with nowhere else to turn. They’ve decided that sin is inevitable, and that they might as well control it, and make a little money while they’re at it. If that’s something you can’t accept, then maybe it’s best I turn around and take you back to wait.”

  She was dead serious, Axelle realized.

  The red light stretched on. She had only moments to make her decision.

  “Can I tell you what I think?” Raven asked.

  Axelle nodded, feeling helpless to do anything else.

  “I think you hate these boys on principle – which you are clearly able to do. That’s your right. I won’t pretend they’re good. But. There’s at least a part of you that thinks they can accomplish what regular people cannot. And that’s why you’re here, in this vehicle, going to help me, when you don’t have to.”

  Axelle looked out through the windshield. The light changed and the Land Rover rolled forward. She sighed. “Alright. I’ll grant you that one.”

  Raven chuckled, but it was hollow. “Trust me. If I didn’t have to lean on them and their ways, I wouldn’t. But sometimes I do. And also.” And here she grew serious again. “They’re my family, and I will help them in any way I can.” Her glance was a warning.

  One that Axelle took seriously.

  Careful to keep her tone neutral, she said, “Albie said he didn’t want me involved in all this. I thought maybe it was a woman thing. But now I guessing it’s a family thing.”

  “Oh, they didn’t want me involved either, trust me. But I’ve got an in that they don’t.” She plucked the little jar of Pseudonym-made face cream up from the cup holder and brandished it like a jewel. “And Phillip’s smart enough to know that in some cases intimidation – at least his brand of it – isn’t the best way to get answers. Sometimes.” She gave her head a proud little toss. “There’s things those silly boys simply can’t do.”

  She sent Axelle another look. “Game face on, Dale Junior. You’ll have to do what I say, follow my lead, and be on the lookout for anything. Can you do that?”

  Axelle realized it felt really good to be useful. “Yes, ma’am,” she said with a little salute, and Raven laughed.

  Thirteen

  Raven had wiped away all traces of laughter by the time they reached their destination. Game face, she’d said, and Axelle watched her pull her own on like a perfectly-fitted mask. Acting had never been her strong suit, but Axelle smoothed her expression as best she could and followed.

  In an underground parking garage, a valet in a waistcoat took the Land Rover from them, and a doorman welcomed Raven inside by name, bowing the two of them through a glass door and into a vast marble lobby.

  And by vast, she meant…unreal. Big as a basketball court, soaring ceilings studded with can lights. A massive fountain made to look like a rock waterfall dominated one wall, above which hung an etched metal sign: Ryan Anders.

  A receptionist called a disinterested good morning to Raven, and they headed for a bank of elevators.

  The interior of the elevator was mirror-plated on all sides. When the door slid shut, Axelle found herself face-to-face with a reflection so unfamiliar it startled her. Raven had dressed her in a white oxford, slim black slacks, simple sling-backs, and a black velvet blazer with leather lapels. Her hair was in a bun – Raven had slicked the sides back with a palmful of some kind of goo.

  She looked – severe. Was her face really that thin? Her chin that pointed? And the bags under her eyes had bags of their own.

  She leaned in closer, squinting, wishing she hadn’t skipped moisturizing that morning. “God, I look awful.”

  “I have a face cream I was going to lend you,” Raven said, matter-of-fact.

  Axelle snorted. “That crap made outta your dad’s stem cells or whatever?”

  “What? Ew, darling, no. I meant Lancôme. Now, listen: Ryan Anders is the name in the fashion business around here. She knows the where and when of every show, has an in with every designer, and she’s got all the good gossip. I’ll do all the talking. Don’t make eye contact with her, and don’t try to draw her attention.”

  “Why the hell did you even bring me, then?” Axelle muttered under her breath, and then the elevator arrived with a polite ding.

  She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but the scene the doors opened onto was somehow fitting. Rather than ranks of cubicles, this floor seemed to be one large office, open from end, to end, to end, to end, silver sunlight blasting through from all sides. The design was minimal; everything was glass and bare-bones Scandinavian furniture. A few potted succulents. There were walls, she realized, as they walked up to the receptionist, but they were glass, fading from view. But Axelle got a look at one as she walked past it, and realized they were thick. Soundproof probably, she guessed.
r />   The girl at the desk was done up even more severely than Axelle; hair cupped tight around her head like a helmet, stiff with product, her clothes shapeless and dark, her skin white-white, her makeup invisible save a swipe of bright gold eyeshadow across her lids. It was dramatic.

  This was why Axelle had never had any use for high fashion.

  “Raven.” The girl’s accent was French. Her smile seemed genuine, but restrained. “I didn’t see your name on the itinerary. Here for lunch?”

  Raven gave a little casual wave. “Come to beg a favor, actually. Is she free?”

  “One moment.”

  Axelle could see Ryan Anders through a glass wall, sitting at a massive glass desk, poring over what looked like sketches, sleek bobbed hair tucked behind her ears. But the girl picked up the phone and made a call to check. People in places like these didn’t rap on walls and shout, Axelle figured.

  They got the okay, and Raven led them into the inner office.

  “Hello, Ryan.”

  Ryan held up a finger, eyes still scanning what were indeed sketches. Menswear, it looked like from upside down. Severe-cut, high-necked jackets in blacks and military greens.

  Raven took one of the two visitor chairs and gestured for Axelle to take the other.

  Silence. Silence that stretched.

  Finally, Ryan lifted her head and pulled off her rimless reading glasses. She looked exhausted, and unfriendly. “Raven,” she greeted. And that was it.

  “Ryan. Darling.” Raven’s cheer was gag-inducingly fake. “Did you have the lobby redone downstairs? It’s to die for. Listen.” She hitched up to the very edge of her chair, leaning forward. “I know you’re dreadfully busy, I just wanted to ask a favor.” At some point, she’d dug the jar of Pseudonym face cream out of her purse and held it up now.

  Be on the lookout for anything, Raven had said, and Axelle noticed Ryan’s gaze arrest, and narrow. Watched her spine stiffen. An interesting reaction to a jar of lotion.

  Real subtle, Raven, she thought with an inward eyeroll.

  But Raven was paying attention, too, because she rolled with it. “Remember the event where they handed this out? Which designer was that? Della Capricorn? I might have had a little too much champagne that day.” She chuckled. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to Della about her in with Gleaux and see if she could snag me some more samples for Mom’s show in two weeks. I’ve tried emailing the company, but they’re either really secretive, or really exclusive.”

  Axelle could tell that Ryan was suspicious. “Why not just contact Della yourself?” Her tone was bored, tired, but her gaze was fixed on the little jar of product Raven still held.

  “Well.” Raven lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. “That’s the thing. Della’s been poaching models out from under us, so…”

  Ryan’s mouth twitched in a fractional, humorless smile. “Ah. I see.” She leaned back and plucked her iPad up off the near corner of the desk. “I know the CEO over at Gleaux. I can put you in contact, if you like.”

  “Oh, I’d hate to be any trouble…”

  “No, it’s fine. Clive is an old friend.” A quiet whoosh sounded from the tablet. “I’ve just emailed him and CC’d you. You should hear from him shortly.”

  “You’re the best, Ry.”

  “Yes.” She sat forward again, elbows braced on the desk, a speculative look coming to rest…on Axelle.

  No eye contact, she remembered belatedly, and ducked her head over the legal pad she carried.

  “Speaking of models, this is one of your new ones?”

  “My assistant,” Raven said.

  “Hmm.” Axelle dared a look up through her lashes and wanted to squirm when she saw the way the woman’s gaze was fixed on her. “Shame. Perfect bone structure.” Then, to Axelle’s utter shock, she produced a business card from seemingly nowhere and slid it across the desk. “If Raven won’t come to her senses and put you on the runway, you can get in touch with me. It’s always a shame to see beauty go to waste.”

  ~*~

  “Okay, what the hell was that?” Axelle asked when they were back in the car. “Because I know I’m new to this whole espionage thing, but that seemed like a whole bunch of nothing.”

  “Wrong,” Raven said, lifting a corrective pinky off the wheel as she steered them to the gate of the parking deck. “We gained valuable intelligence. For starters, we know that Ryan is definitely suspicious, which means she has something to hide.”

  “Yeah. But isn’t this business crazy competitive? Why are you assuming she’s part of some secret government assassin school?”

  Raven’s frown proved Axelle had scored a point for logic.

  Raven sighed. “This sort of intel-gathering is a marathon, and not a sprint. My brothers like to kick in doors and bash heads, but that’s not how things work in my world.”

  “Hmm.”

  The gate attendant finally got around to approving Raven’s parking pass and lifted the arm. As they rolled out into the watery sunlight, Axelle peeked into the rearview mirror and spotted a black sedan behind them, its windows too tinted to see through.

  Probably nothing. Didn’t all rich, fancy people drive sleek black cars?

  Except…this one followed them. Through three turns.

  “We have a tail,” Axelle said, shifting down in her seat a little and wishing she was behind the wheel.

  “Are you–” Raven checked her own mirror. “Shit.” And then: “Oh, shit.”

  Because two cut-wearing Lean Dogs on black Triumph bikes swooped in behind them out of nowhere, forcing the tail to back off.

  “Fuck,” Raven said crisply. “Just fuck.”

  Fourteen

  “…I would ask how you could possibly be this stupid, but that in and of itself is a stupid question!”

  Raven had been yelling for a while.

  Axelle had long since tuned her out.

  Beside her, Tommy stood with arms folded, shoulder braced against the Land Rover’s back window. “She’s scared,” he said, apropos of nothing.

  Axelle hadn’t been paying attention to him at all. Raven was yelling at Albie, and, to her shame, she’d been taking note of the close fit of his t-shirt sleeves over the compact, but strong bundles of his biceps. The unimpressed line of his mouth. The worry burning in his gaze.

  He was…not unattractive.

  (She hated herself for thinking that.)

  “What?” she asked, turning to his younger brother.

  “Raven,” he said, nodding toward her. “She only loses her cool like this when she’s really fucking scared.”

  “Fear makes asses of us all,” Axelle said.

  “Yeah.”

  Including her, she thought sourly; she was afraid, and she was maybe channeling that into useless attraction.

  She shook her head to clear it.

  To be fair, Raven did have a point. Her argument was that by intercepting their tail and acting as protection escort, Albie and Tommy had effectively claimed the Rover, and its occupants, as their own. Their people – theirs to protect. Which meant Raven was now officially tied, like it or not, to the Dogs. In a game of stealth, it was a complicating factor.

  “Come on,” Albie said, voice maddeningly even, “do you really think they didn’t already know you were mixed up in this?”

  “They might not have!”

  “Use your head. If they know who Dad is, then they know who all of his children are. Up ‘til now, they’ve probably been content to leave us be because they know none of us are on speaking terms with him. But that’s changed now. So.” He shrugged. Do the math, his expression seemed to say.

  Raven pressed her lips into a thin, pale line and opened and closed her fists a few times. Finally, she made an inarticulate sound of frustration and spun away from him. Paced over toward the wall, arms folded tight across her body.

  Albie came to join the two of them by the Rover, and Axelle made sure her gaze was fixed on an innocuous bit of brickwork on the rear façade of the buildi
ng.

  “Well, congrats,” he said with a sigh, and it took her a moment to realize he was talking to her. When she looked at his face, his expression was one of weary resignation. “It looks like you’re in this now.”

  She felt her back bowing up and worked to keep her voice neutral. Not as neutral as his, but she didn’t think that was possible. “I was ‘in this’ the second your dad stole that file.”

  He sighed again, but didn’t contradict her, which was both surprising, and sapped some of her anger. “Raven’s going to keep digging. And I guess you’re stuck playing her assistant.”

  “Not like I have another choice,” she shot back.

  He lifted his head and made eye contact. His eyes were glass-colored in the weak sunlight. “No,” he said, and gooseflesh broke out down her arms, “you don’t.”

  ~*~

  They’d taken one of the featureless club utility vans, a decision which Fox regretted deeply at this point, because it meant they were all cooped up together in one space.

  “You’ve got to find a way to calculate the wind speed,” Devin was saying in the back seat.

  “I know that,” Evan countered, huffing in frustration.

  “But do you, though? You have to have a way to measure it. Look: you take a little bit of ribbon, like this–”

  “Pothole.”

  “What?” Fox pulled his gaze away from the rearview mirror – Devin was using a paper straw wrapper he’d found on the floor to demonstrate the use of flags and bits of cloth to gauge the wind speed and direction – just in time to see the massive pothole looming in the road ahead. There was an oncoming car, and a wall to his left; no chance to swerve. He gritted his teeth, let up on the accelerator, and they hit it head-on.

  The van jumped.

  “Hey!” two voices chorused from the backseat.

  Eden braced her arm along the window and looked like she was trying not to laugh. “I did warn you about it,” she said, mildly.

  “Yes, and what a help it was.”